


I Came Upon This Thing Called Trust

by mizface



Series: PiP future fic [5]
Category: Pretty In Pink (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface/pseuds/mizface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steff took a careful step into the kitchen, not sure of what to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Came Upon This Thing Called Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Another trope bingo fill - food and cooking square. Again for the amazing Lucifuge5 - hope you enjoy this look at Steff's past, present (and hints of the future).
> 
> Title from "We are Not Alone" by Karla DeVito.

**_Age 7_ **

Steff took a careful step into the kitchen, not sure of what to expect. Maggie, the family cook, was at the sink rinsing something green and probably gross. He waited in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, half-hoping she wouldn't notice him so he could make his escape. 

“Are you just going to watch from over there, or are you coming in?” she asked without turning around. Steff's eyes widened and he slowly made his way to the corner of the island near the sink. Maggie glanced at him over her shoulder. 

“That's better. So, are you here to help?”

“You mean you haven't told my fath- my parents about last night?” he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. “Told you I wouldn't unless you decided not to help me, didn't I? How would that have been fair, me going to your parents before you'd decided?”

Steff didn't know what to say to that. He'd fully expected her to have told his parents the whole thing, from him trying to sneakily get rid of his vegetables for the last couple of weeks to her catching him red-handed in the kitchen the night before, half-eaten cookie in his hand. But when he'd gotten home from school, there had been no yelling, no grounding, no angry or disappointed looks. That's why he'd made his way to the kitchen. He'd thought maybe something had happened to Maggie, or that she was waiting for him to be there before she said anything, so he'd be unable to escape his punishment.

But she hadn't told anyone, and it sounded like she really wasn't going to, as long as he helped her in the kitchen. He took a long look around the room. It wasn't a bad place, really, warm and not too big, clean but not in the _'look but don't touch'_ way the rest of the house was.

Steff started at the sudden silence when Maggie turned off the sink. “So have you decided, young man?” she asked. “Because I could use help shelling these peas.”

Steff stepped forward, curious despite himself. “I didn't know peas came in shells.”

“They don't,” she said, her voice soft and full of kindness. “But they need shelling all the same. Here, sit at the table with me and I'll show you.”

 

**_Age 12_ **

“Mr. Bowman is an idiot,” Steff pronounced as he stormed into the kitchen, dropping his books on the table with a thud. “The man can burn water – I've seen it.”

Maggie just cocked her eyebrow at him, then went back to stirring something on the stove that smelled heavenly.

“Seriously,” Steff went on, snagging an apple from the bowl on the table and going to rinse it before taking a bite. He chewed and swallowed before finishing the thought. “He has no business teaching Home Ec.”

“What crime against food did he commit today?” Maggie asked with a chuckle.

“Besides his normal lack of anything remotely resembling evenly chopped ingredients and presentation that's as far from appetizing as you can get? Pretty sure he switched the sugar and the salt in _everything_.” Steff shuddered. “It was awful. He must have killed all of his taste buds to not have noticed.”

“So did you show him how it should be done?”

“Of course not. No point – it isn't like he'd be willing to learn from a junior high student. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “at least the way it looks is kind of a warning.”

Maggie shook her head, clucking in disapproval, though Steff could see the hints of a smile she was trying to hide. She continued to work at the stove for a few more moments before saying, “You make your jokes, but I know. You're not willing to risk what your classmates would say if they knew how good you are in the kitchen.” 

“We've gone over this before,” he sighed long-sufferingly. “My friends wouldn't understand.”

“Then they aren't your friends, which yes, I've told you before, many times.” She set the spoon aside and wiped her hands on her apron before walking over to Steff and patting him on the cheek. “Someday, you'll believe me.”

Steff smiled at her sadly as he placed his hand over hers, pressing against it for a moment before bringing it away from his face, fingers tangled together. “Maybe someday I'll have your faith in humanity,” he said, squeezing her hand before letting it go. “For now, how about you tell me what we're making tonight? I need to wipe away all memories of the disaster that was class today.”

_**Age 17** _

Steff ignored the knock at his door, for once uncaring of who it was or what the consequence might be for not responding. Whoever it was knocked again; he still refused to answer. He heard footsteps moving away and sank further into his chair, glaring at the stupidly sunny day outside his window.

The sound of a key turning in the lock of his door snapped his attention to it, though he didn't change his stance. He half-hoped it was his father; he was itching for a fight and the old man never let him down in that regard. When Maggie walked in instead, tray in hand, he turned back to the window.

He heard her put the tray down on his desk, but nothing else. When it became apparent she wasn't leaving, he finally broke the silence, still not looking at her.

“You know how my father feels about eating anywhere but the dining room table. Not that I'm planning on eating it. I told them I wasn't hungry.”

“If you think not eating is punishing me, you're wrong,” she replied. “Just like thinking I don't care about you is wrong.”

“Please,” he sneered, hating himself even as he spat out the words. “As if how you feel matters to me. As if _you_ matter to me at all.”

“I'm not leaving to hurt you,” she replied calmly. “I wish you would see that.”

“So why are you still here?”

“An old woman's foolishness, it seems. I had thought you grown enough to understand. But you're acting like a child.” She sighed deeply; he could hear the sadness in it, alongside the exhaustion. He hadn't made it easy for her since she'd announced a month ago that she was retiring. He argued, cajoled, offered to do most of the cooking for her, even tried bribery, but she wouldn't be swayed, and he couldn't understand why. Why now, when he was a year away of getting to escape himself? Why couldn't she stay for just that much longer?

Cutting a glance at her without meaning to, he was a little shocked at what he saw. He'd spent as little time as possible with Maggie once he'd realized he couldn't keep her from leaving, too hurt and angry to be near her. Watching her now, taking food off the tray and fiddling with the silverware, he could see she looked as tired as she sounded. For the first time, she looked old. 

He started to turn toward her, to get up and help, but viciously shoved down the urge. What he did now wouldn't matter; after tonight he'd never see her again. His lip curled in a humorless smile at the thought that she'd brought him his last meal, all too fitting with his mood.

Steff heard her sigh again, and he watched her reflection as she moved slowly toward the door. She hesitated, half-turned toward him, then shook her head and closed the door quietly behind her. He watched the reflection for several minutes before closing his eyes, hunched in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his body as if to keep himself from going after her.

The food was never touched.

**_Age 25_ **

Apartment hunting was a bore, Steff thought as his realtor ushered him toward yet another building. Everything he'd seen so far was sterile, empty, lifeless. If he'd wanted that, he would have fought harder for the house in the divorce. Steff stifled a laugh at the thought and tried to pay attention to what Darla-Denise-Debbie (okay, and considering this was the fourth apartment today, maybe he should have at least tried to learn her name) was telling him about the place as she parked. The building was nice enough from the outside; older but well kept, with a private lot for tenants to park. Bit of greenery here and there, also taken care of. Maybe this one wouldn't be so bad.

The inside of the building was equally nice, the elevator in good working order, the hall leading to the apartment quiet. She unlocked the door and let him in, rattling off number of rooms and dimensions as she followed behind.

Honestly, it was fine. All the apartments he'd seen today probably were, but he couldn't be bothered to care enough to choose. It wasn't like he was waiting for the perfect place - after all, the house was supposed to have been that, and look how well that had turned out. Steff wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Maybe he should just flip a coin or something to pick one, he thought as he turned the corner.

He stopped dead at the sight in front of him. He'd wandered into the kitchen, and what a kitchen it was. No galley kitchen layout here – this was made for someone who cooked. Plenty of counter space, a nice big oven, state-of-the-art refrigerator, a double sink... Steff could actually see himself here, see soup simmering on the stove while bread rose on the counter. It was, the thought came, unbidden, the kind of kitchen Maggie would have loved. He let that roll over in his mind for a few moments; for the first time in years, thinking of her didn't hurt, and he let himself admit that he still missed her fiercely.

Steff walked around the kitchen, lost in thought. He hadn't really cooked in years. Sure, when he'd had his own place he'd dabbled, having gotten tired very quickly of restaurant fare, but once he'd gotten married that had stopped. His harpy of a wife (ex-wife, ex ex ex) had never appreciated his talents in the kitchen, thinking it beneath him to cook. So he'd buried the happiness he got from it, pretended it didn't really matter. Which meant, he realized, that he had no real memories of her associated with it. What better way to start over?

Decision made, Steff went to tell Miss D they were done looking. 

This was the perfect place to find Steff McKee again. And maybe, just maybe, he'd finally let himself look for Maggie too.

**_Age 34_ **

Steff set the small stack of white boxes he'd brought in on the desk as he signed his name to the check-in sheet. “How is she today, Rosie?”

“Today's a good day, Mr. McKee,” Rosie replied with a smile. “But your visits always make them better - she'll be happy to see you.”

“You are too kind, and I've told you, it's Steff. Mr. McKee is my father.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. McKee,” Rosie answered with a twinkle in her dark brown eyes. Her refusal to call him by his first name was a long-standing joke between them. Not once in his nearly ten years of visits could he remember her calling him anything but Mr. McKee.

“I get no respect,” Steff replied, shaking his head. “It makes me wonder why I even brought this for you,” he went on, taking the top box and patting it. Rosie just watched him expectantly, still smiling, and Steff pushed the box toward her. “All right, but only because you take such good care of my girl.”

Rosie opened the lid of the box and took out one of the cookies. “And you take good care of us. I'll be sure to share these,” she said before taking a bite and closing her eyes in happiness. “Or maybe not.”

“Good luck hiding them,” Steff laughed, picking up the other two boxes and heading down the corridor. When he got to the door, he knocked quietly, and was immediately told to come in.

“You know you don't have to knock, you silly boy,” Maggie told him from her chair by the window. Steff was glad to see that Rosie hadn't been exaggerating – Maggie looked as good as she had in years, eyes bright and smile free of pain. “And you don't have to bring me presents either,” she said, pointing a long, frail finger at the boxes in his hands.

“Hello to you too, Maggie,” Steff said, setting the boxes on the table next to her before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Maybe they aren't presents. Maybe I'd like your expert opinion.”

She laughed and pushed him away. “Flatterer,” she said as she gestured for him to open the top box for her. “Oh, like you need anything from me on these,” she said as he handed her a much smaller version of the cookies he'd left with Rosie. She took a tiny bite and sighed. “These are delicious and you know it. And I'm sure whatever's in the bottom box is just as good.”

“If it is, it's because I had an excellent teacher.”

“Oho, and that's laying it on a bit thick.” She leaned in to give him a closer look. “You're wanting something, I think.”

“Just the pleasure of your company,” Steff replied. The look he got said she wasn't buying that for a second, and he sighed as he sat down in the chair next to hers. “You're still sharp as ever.”

“And don't you forget it,” she replied with a wink. “Or maybe I just know you that well, Stefan McKee. So what is it you need from your old Maggie?”

Steff hesitated, staring out the window for a few moments before answering. “I was hoping you'd finally share that old family recipe you've been dangling in front of me like a carrot forever.”

“I've not been dangling it, I've been waiting for the right time,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You tell me – is this it?”

Steff's eyes met hers as he nodded, all teasing gone. “I think it is.”

She held his gaze, her regard as intense as it ever had been. Age hadn't dulled her mind one iota. After a minute, she sat back in her chair with a soft smile. “I believe you're right. And it makes an old woman's heart happy to see. There's paper and pen in my side table drawer,” she said, waving her hand in that direction. “Fetch them and I'll tell you my secrets.”

She caught Steff's hand as he stood. “And maybe you'll tell me yours too. I'd like to hear about the girl who's won your heart.”

Steff smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then tried to find the words to describe Andie Walsh.


End file.
